


This is You

by Arisprite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Episode: s03e22 De-Void, Gen, Nogitsune Stiles, Scott does too a bit, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, post ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisprite/pseuds/Arisprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But, he was sure that this one, this twitching, unsteady boy was really his best friend and no one else. He was sure (he had to be).<br/>Scott helps Stiles clean up in the aftermath of De-Void.</p>
<p>I blame username-goes-here for this entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is You

They were gone. Lydia, and the...Scott’s mind stuttered. Stiles, the nogitsune. Whatever it was that had just- He couldn’t even contemplate what had just happened. All he knew was that there were two Stiles’ now, and one of them had insane eyes, and the other one looked up at him and said his name just like he used to. But the relief of that moment was cut short, and Lydia was missing, and there was _no trace, no scent, and oh god oh god, what do I do?_

Scott stopped in the street, houses down from his, and breathed, hands on his knees, like he used to for asthma attacks. But this wasn’t an asthma attack, it wasn’t even a panic attack. If only he had the luxury for a panic attack now, but he had to get back there. His mom was back there, his pack needed him, and Stiles-

Stiles was back.

Maybe? 

They’d find Lydia, they would defeat this new twist that the nogitsune had thrown to them, and they would…

They _had_ to win. 

He turned, and jogged back to the house, the door still hanging open the way he’d left it. As he approached, he heard the familiar heartbeats of Peter, Dr. Deaton, his mother, and now Stiles. 

_His heartbeat was all wrong before._

But it was his. It was his, but now it was too fast. He could hear Stiles panting out on the step. 

When he entered the room, he saw his mom just beginning to notice the way that Stiles had gone pale (paler), and was breathing far too quickly. Still bundled in the bandages from which he’d (emerged, been thrown up), he was lifting shaking hands to tear at his neck. 

“Scott,” His mom said, going towards Stiles, throwing him a glance of worry and pleading. “help me.” 

Stiles’ panic was escalating, and he leaned forward on the couch, fumbling, ripping at his swathed hands. Little noises of distress rose up, loud in the silent shocked room. No one was processing what had just happened, that he could tell. 

“Scott, where’s Lydia?” Peter asked. He was watching dispassionately, and Deaton clinically. Only his mom was trying to get close, trying to help. But, she hadn’t talked Stiles down from a panic attack, she hadn’t seen Stiles at his worst, she didn’t know him like he did. 

“Mom, get back. Peter, I couldn’t find any scent, they just vanished. I don’t know.” _I don’t know I don’t know_...Scott tried to keep calm, but didn’t look up as Peter vanished out of the house. His mom stepped forward, in full nurse mode. Stiles freaked out. He struggled up from the couch, almost falling but evading helping arms, and running, tripping and stumbling towards the stairs. For a half second, Scott had been afraid he’d run for the still open door, and he’d lose him again. 

Melissa started after him, her hands twisting together. 

“He needs to calm his breathing, he needs to calm down, Scott. I need to- oh, does he still have the wound? Scott-”

“Mom, please!” Scott didn’t quite snap. It couldn’t be a snap, when your voice was about to break from panic, right? He took a shaking breath, and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get him. Please, let me get him.” 

Finally, finally she stepped backwards, and Scott could follow after Stiles. Stiles who was (possibly, maybe) himself again for the first time since he whispered in his ear demanding that Scott kill him. Stiles, who was breathing in sharp, insufficient breaths, whimpering, at the top of the stairs. His body was weak, shaking with fear or exhaustion, and he’d only made it most of the way, before falling against the banister, holding on with wrapped up fingers. 

“Scott, no Scott, no no,” He was muttering, while his shoulders heaved. Scott climbed the stairs, showing a calm he didn’t feel. 

“Stiles, it’s me. I’m going to help you.” Scott spoke the way he spoke to the terrified cats or dogs at the clinic. Stiles lowered his head, and let out a moan. 

“No, no, don’t come near me, I might hurt you…” His voice was thin, the way it had been on the phone only a few days ago, (how was that only a few days ago?) and trembled with every word. He glanced back over his shoulder, for just a second, and his face was white, dead looking and horror struck. But, it was Stiles. Just so...Stiles. He was all there, and Scott’s heart _ached_ with missing him. 

“Stiles,” He whispered. “Let me…”

Stiles breathed out, sobbed once, and slid to the top step. He was sweating and shaking, and still trying to get the bandaging off of his neck, his hands. The oversized jacket was interfering with his lurching movements, and Scott crept closer. Carefully, he put out his hand, and like before, he pulled some of the bandaging down. Stiles froze when he got close, his whole body trembling. 

“Shh, sh,” Scott moved quickly, trying to get his neck free. Maybe that would help his breathing. Stiles’ brown eyes fixed on him, impossibly wide, and wet with tears, and his face was covered in sweat. He swallowed, gasped in. 

“Please, get it off me?” 

Scott nodded firmly, his hands still gentle. Once Stiles’ neck was free, he worked on his hands, just ripping through pieces that didn’t want to unwrap. He was careful not to get his claws anywhere near Stiles’ skin. 

Stiles held very still, so much so that Scott had to fight down chills that this was the nogitsune again, playing another trick. But, his eyes were still scared and _himself_. At one point, he glanced downstairs. 

“Lydia’s gone, isn’t she? I… it took her.” Scott tried not to notice the slip, and nodded shortly. 

“I’ll get her back. You focus on being okay.” 

“You should go, go find her.” Stiles whispered, and the shaking had died down to a fine quiver through his frame. 

“I will, once you’re alright.”’

Scott waited for his friend to insist he was okay (he wasn’t, not at all, there was no way he could be) but the words never came. Stiles breathed in a couple more shaky breaths, and each one was a little quicker. Scott worked quicker too. 

As he worked, he tried to focus on Stiles and only Stiles. Yes, Lydia was missing, he had no idea where Derek, or anyone else was, there were _two Stiles’_ and everything had pretty much gone to hell. But, he was sure that this one, this twitching, unsteady boy was really his best friend and no one else. He was sure (he had to be). 

Sucking in a wet breath, Stiles looked at Scott, and then glanced towards the bathroom door just up the hall. 

Understanding, Scott stood, and lifted Stiles up with his arm around his shoulder. He was so light, just a featherweight against his side, and it had nothing to do with his werewolf strength. The clothes he was wearing, and the remains of the bandages smelled like death, burned and decaying, like Stiles had been buried in them for a hundred years. But, he was living and breathing underneath them, and Scott didn’t think he could ask for more. 

Leading his friend into the bathroom, he set Stiles on the seat of the toilet, and turned on the shower water (to the precise point on the dial where the water would be warm enough, but not scalding). Then, he turned back to Stiles. 

Stiles, in the second that Scott had turned his back, had fallen into panic again, tugging at the leather jacket he wore. A small whimper escaped again, and Scott stepped back into his line of sight.

“Let’s get this off of you,” He said gently, like the way his mother talked to patients. Stiles nodded, jerkily, and lifted his arms like a child. Scott took the jacket off, and began unwrapping the rest of the bandaging which covered Stiles’ torso. 

He tried to ignore the way that Stiles’ chest jumped under his hands, and his breath was still harsh in his ears. He was glad to see that the gaping wound across his stomach was gone-not even a scar. 

“Scott… what did I do?” Stiles whispered, and looked down at him. “And Lydia’s...what, what did I do?”

Scott frowned, gritting his teeth. 

“You didn’t do anything, Stiles. This wasn’t your fault. “ 

A tear swelled, and fell down Stiles’ cheek. He sat, bare chested, and quaking, while tears began to crawl down his cheeks. He sniffled, and gasped wetly, and Scott wanting nothing more than to pull him into a hug. But, at the slightest movement, Stiles stiffened, and dropped his face. 

“Get out, Scott, go,” His voice was low, toneless now. He grabbed the towel rack, and used it to level himself to his feet, forcing Scott to either back up, or fall over, and began working at the buttons on the strange pants he wore, which surely covered more bandages. “Go, find Lydia. Help her, please. Help everyone. Get away from me.” 

Scott stepped back again, towards the door. 

“Are you sure-”

“GET OUT!” 

Stiles lunged, kind of lumbering the way the nogitsune moved, which sent a chill down Scott’s chest even as he stumbled backwards. Stiles’s eyes widened, and he gasped, and gasped again. Scott reached out one more time, and Stiles flinched so badly he was afraid he’d fall and hurt himself. 

“Okay, okay.” Scott backed off, hands up and in sight, “I’ll bring you some clothes.” He said, before closing the bathroom door. 

A minute later at most, Scott returned to the closed door with a handful of clothes from his drawers: sweat pants, a soft tee shirt, boxers, socks, a hoodie. He hoped that Stiles would feel better once he wasn’t wearing the clothes the nogitsune had forced on him. Scott decided then and there to find each and every scrap of bandage and burn it all. 

He was about to call out to Stiles, and tell him his clothes were ready, when he heard something over the shower spray. It was too quiet for a normal human to pick up, but Scott could make it out clearly, especially after years of being tuned in to Stiles. 

On the floor in the bathroom, Stiles was sobbing. Harsh and guttural, breaking out of him like a flood, and sounding like it was tearing him in half. Scott’s knees weakened, and he too ended up on the floor, with his back to the door and the clothes in his lap, tears trickling out of his eyes. 

His friend had just gone through something unimaginable. He was wounded, and broken, and all Scott could do was keep sentinel outside the bathroom door.


End file.
